


Before the Weirwood

by ariannenymerosmartell (somethingmoo)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, canon sucks so we need to fix it, marriage!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 14:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18967561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingmoo/pseuds/ariannenymerosmartell
Summary: She says yes





	Before the Weirwood

“That’s not me,” Arya says, softly, and makes to turn away from him, but Gendry grabs her arm. 

“You think I want you just to be the mother of my children, knitting with ladies?” he asks sharply.

She stares at him.

“Rule the Stormlands with me. Teach me to lead, to... take care of my people. Show me how to run a household, how to hold court, how to deliver justice. Show me--”

Arya raises a hand to cut him off. 

“Women don’t do that,” she says, pained. “People will talk, people will say--” 

“They’ll say that the woman who brought the dawn runs Storm’s End while her husband occupies himself in the smithy bribing his lords with high quality weapons.” Gendry grins and her and shrugs. “I’ve had worse said about me.”

Arya’s heart beats in her chest uncomfortably fast. In her mind, her own voice echoes back at her; _can I be a king's councillor and build castles and become the High Septon?_

He is not offering her that. He is offering her him, a life, a chance to be lady of her own making, not the one Septa Mordane and Sansa had tried to make her. 

He is looking at her so earnestly, so full of love, it makes her dizzier than any wine, any mead. 

“Yes,” she breathes, surprised at herself, and then Gendry is on her, picking her up and spinning her around and kissing the breath from her lungs. 

When he finally puts her down, she laughs, giddy at her own daring, at her own decision. 

“There’s a but,” she says, and places a hand against his chest to slow him before he can lean down to kiss her again. 

“I want to travel first. I want to see the world, to see all of it, so that--” 

“So that you can tell our children all of your tales and make them want to take to the sea also?” Gendry finishes for her, and it reminds her so much of when Jon used to finishes sentences with her. She knows she has made the right choice.

Arya grabs him and pulls him down to kiss, then takes his hand. 

“Where are we going?” He asks, and from the lilt in his voice she knows he thinks she means to take him to the forge for another round. 

That will come later. 

“Godswood,” she says, as nonchalantly as she can. “Heart tree.” 

Gendry stops dead in his tracks. 

“We’re marrying now?!” 

“You asked,” Arya reminds him, and Gendry laughs. 

“Lead the way then,” he says, and she does.

They stand before the tree, handing hands, looking up at the face. 

“I’ve never seen a wedding,” Arya admits, suddenly feeling foolish. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“It’s oaths, isn’t it?” Gendry says, as though she’s silly for over thinking it. “Promises to each other.” 

Arya is silent for a long time. The last time she stared into the eyes of a weirwood, she’d heard her father’s voice, reminding her of who she was. She wonders if he’s watching now. She hopes he is. 

“I swear to be honorable,” she says, Ned Stark’s face swimming behind her eyes. “To be loyal, and faithful, and loving from this day until my last. No matter where I am or where you may be, I will love you always.” 

“I swear to be faithful,” Gendry says. “To be loyal, and loving, and honorable from this day until my last. No matter where you are or where I may be, I will love you always.”

She knows why he starts with faithful. She hopes Robert Baratheon is burning for what he did... but is still proud of the good man Gendry is in spite of him. 

And then, Gendry sweeps his cloak around her shoulders, and it is heavy and warm, and smells like him.

She kisses him then, trying to fill it with everything she is feeling, and when they break apart, she is surprised to feel tears on her face.

“We’re married now,” Gendry declares. “Bonded for life,” and he brushes away her tears with his thumbs.

“Oh good,” Arya says. “Now I can bed you whenever I want.” 

“You could have done that before,” Gendry says with a wicked grin, pulling her in for a kiss again.

He undoes the laces on her coat easily, her breeches next, pulling them off along with her boots. 

Absurdly, she hopes Bran isn’t watching this. 

Gendry lays her down on his cloak, and spreads her legs. 

“Gendry,” she breathes, before it turns into a moan as his tongue explores her, flicking over her clit, before diving into her center. Her hands find their way to stroke the soft fuzz of his hair, and it encourages him to lap at her faster, driving two fingers into her in tandem with his tongue. It’s divine pleasure, and it doesn’t take long before she is coming apart, shaking, murmuring his name over and over. 

_My husband._

He moves up her body, and Arya is only vaguely aware that he has shed his clothing. He presses into her then with a groan. It is a sweet burn, the way his cock stretches her, and she pants in his ear for more and harder. She wraps her legs around him for more leverage, trying to drive him deeper.

He comes inside her with a groan, and then whispers her name as sweet as a prayer. 

They lay there for a few moments, kissing and touching, before Gendry begins shivering.

Arya snorts.

“Southerner.” 

“Lady of Storm’s End,” Gendry retorts, and _huh_. So she is. 

*

They have been on the ship for three moons, heavily beset by storms. They hadn’t reached West of Westeros. Whatever that meant.

One of her crewmen asks what they should do and Arya, knows. Undoubtedly, this is the work of the gods.

“Storm’s End. It appears our child demands to be born there.”


End file.
